System, Part 7 of The Damned Series
by Amber Akasha
Summary: Oneshoot with a little bit of a songfic. Harry talks to Hermione and Ron about being Surival. Pre-slash COMPLETE, M/M, Oneshot


Title: System  
Category: Harry Potter  
Summary: Oneshoot with a little bit of a songfic.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any profit from this. Song is "System", by Chester Bennington of Linkin Park, part of Queen of the Damned's soundtrack.

Dedicated to **Oh My Zombiee**, who gave me the idea of making this a serie. Thanks! ;)

**WARNING: THIS SERIE WILL ULTIMATELY BE SLASH. MAN ON MAN ACTION. DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.**

* * *

**System**

Harry laid the guitar gently on the table, not looking away but not keeping his eyes averted either. His long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, shiny and still wild, yet a little tamer, softer since he had grown it out. He had long ago gotten rid of his old glasses –they could prove too much of a weakness in battle, after all- and his eyes shone bright, despite the bitter, tired gaze. He had filled out a bit, yet he remained one of the shortest boys his age; he was still lean, despite having gotten a hard training that had left him with a quite toned body.

With a sigh he turned to look at the ones he once considered his best friends. The two Gryffindors stood proud, the changes in them barely noticeable; they had aged, perhaps, yet they hadn't grown. Unlike him, they had remained untouched by war.

While he noticed matching rings on their fingers, he couldn't muster the energy to care. He had grown up, he had learnt to look at them in another –more objective- light, and he had found that he didn't like what he was seeing. They weren't evil, they hadn't betrayed him, nothing like that; he just had moved on, grown up, while they had never had to do so. He couldn't begrudge them their –so blissfully prolonged- childhoods, their innocence; but he couldn't relate to them anymore, their squabbles petty, their life's insubstantial, frivolous, empty.

He felt oddly disconnected, looking at them, and he got a strange feeling, like he somehow should recognize them, know them, yet didn't.  
The shuffle of feet and the way the brunette squirmed caught his attention, and he nodded slowly, waiting for an explanation as to why they had followed him there.  
He supposed he should have seen it coming; the two of them had just discovered he was the famous rock star they used to adore, leader of The Damned, their favourite band, and he knew they wouldn't take the news well. But he was so tired of hiding...and there wasn't a reason to do so, not anymore.

The redhead opened his mouth slowly, hesitantly, as if unsure of what he was going to say. When he spoke, his words were like a torrent, flowing fast from his mouth and ending in a note of doubt.  
'Harry, mate. We wanted to speak with you.' He said, scratching his neck sheepishly. He then blurted, once he realised he wans't about to find any magical way to make this sound better. 'What's going on? I thought you hated the attention, the stares, and then out of nowhere you're some kind of rock star, with millions of adoring fans, and you don't speak to us anymore, and you dropped quidditch! Quidditch! You don't even look the same! What the hell has happened to you, mate?'

Harry's eyes never left Ron's, as if searching for something only he could see. Slowly, very slowly, he turned to meet Hermione's eyes, silently asking if she had anything else to say.

'Harry, I understand what you are going through. But you have to open up, to stop bottling your feelings. It's not healthy for you. Lately you've been behaving so depressed and, well,' she added, pleadingly 'dark. You don't even respect the professors, Harry! And you act so sarcastic, sometimes you are plain cruel!'

He stared at her emotionless for another moment, before he turned back to his guitar. When Ron and Hermione were sure he wouldn't even answer them, he spoke, never turning back, his voice cutting the silence like a knife.

'I grew up.' For a while he stood, silent, lightly caressing the electric guitar. With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he continued. 'I went to hell and back. I can not, will not, act as a carefree teenager for your peace of mind. Of course I am sarcastic, and as you so eloquently put it, "dark". I don't lie, I won't lie. I wont sugarcoat the truth for the sake of other's delicate sensibilities. We are not children, not anymore. And I wont act as one. And I wont coddle those within this walls. I've had my share of being directed, manipulated, forced to accommodate to others ideals and expectations. I dictate my life now.' He smirked, a twisted, sour smile that instilled some kind of intimate fear in the Gryiffindor's hearts. 'My music, it is mine. Mine to twist, mine to draw, mine to write and feel and shout. I'm not bottling up my feelings, I'm using them, feeding them to the rest of the world, poisoned by my tainted soul. They are jaded, yet unbroken. They are my testimony.' Seeing Ron was about to interrupt him, he further explained himself. 'The fangirls are just another shard of the annoying part of it all. Now, fanboys on the other hand...' he left the sentence open suggestively.

'So, now you want to be famous then?' snapped the redhead. 'Oh, no, Mister Harry bloody Famous Potter can't take not being in the spotlight anymore, now that your task is done and gone, huh? I should have known you were only waiting to be able to soak in the attention of the fans again...' he sneered. Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, looking at Harry and waiting for him to start shouting and ranting as he used to do whenever Ron mentioned his fame. But Harry kept his icy smile, looking at him with a dangerous glint in his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was deadly, yet cold.

'I do not seek the fame, yet I wont deny it when I've done something to earn it, Ron. I did what I had to do, and it changed me. I had to leave pieces of me in the way to my goal, to my destiny, and I'm not the same anymore. I have not been the easy-going teen you remember for a very long time, and while hiding behind masks I've been the one you find before you for so long... I recorded my first CD in our third year, before I even started training. I've been giving concerts since our fifth year –in fact, I had to pull quite a lot of strings to make sure you two didn't come to my first one and figured out who I was. I have not changed so suddenly as you seem to think I have –I've just stopped hiding who I really am. Don't come to me with reproaches and lectures about how I should be, because you were the ones who didn't even notice. It is not my fault if you can't see what is going on before your very eyes.'

Both teenagers stood there, gaping at him, as he slowly picked up his guitar and started playing. He seemed to be writing the song just as he sang, playing the guitar in a way that reminded them more of a lover's caress than a musician playing their instrument. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back slightly, his face contorted in a myriad of emotions, too many to pick up any of them.  
_  
You fell away,  
What more can I say?  
The feelings evolved,  
I won't let it out,  
I can't replace...  
Your screaming face,  
Feeling the sickness inside_  
He turned to them, slowly opening his eyes, and from the glazed look they realized he was thinking about the war.  
_  
So many words  
Can't describe my face  
This feeling's evolved  
So soon to break out  
I can't relate  
to a happy state  
feeling the blood run inside_  
His gaze focused, locking onto theirs as he sang the next lines.  
_  
Why is everything so fucking hard for me?  
**Keep me down to what you think I should be! **  
Must you tempt me and provoke the ministry?_  
When the song ended he stood hanging from his guitar, his whole body shivering with the intensity of the song and eyes half-lidded in what the other two recognized as lazy pleasure.

Why won't you die?  
Your blood in mine…  
We'll be fine…  
Then your body will be mine

Why won't you die?  
Your blood in mine…  
We'll be fine…  
Then your body will be mine

Keep on trying I'll not die so easily

I will not die…

Why is everything so fucking hard for me?

I will not die…

Why is everything so fucking hard for me?

I will not die…

Why won't you die?  
Your blood is mine….  
We'll be fine….  
Then your body will be mine

He threw them one last assessing look, and they got the feeling they had been measured up and come up short.

'By the way, the name's no longer Potter. Harry Potter was the Wizarding World's Saviour and Hope, the Light poster boy, the pawn in the fight against Dark. I am another now. The only thing that holds true throughout history, the only real meaning. I am Survival.'

With that he closed his eyes again, and started playing, obviously deciding the conversation was over.

* * *

Ok, here's a little timeline so you (hopefully) don't get confused:  
3 Year - He records his first CD (creates The Damned, Harrys band)  
4 Year - He starts training  
5 Year - Gives his first concert (the one Malfoy went to)  
6 Year - Defeats Voldemort (at the end of the school year)  
7 Year - This conversation takes place at the start of his seventh year.

R&R?


End file.
